


Demi-Troubles

by StrawbebbieFAH



Category: FAH - Fandom, foil arms and hog
Genre: Demigods, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Multi, OT3, RPF, Recreational Drug Use, Theater Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawbebbieFAH/pseuds/StrawbebbieFAH
Summary: A son of Hades, a son of Poseidon and a son of Zeus are trying to put on a play...Featuring: Strangers to friends to lovers, shetland ponies, and a happy butchering of greek mythology.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 7





	1. Thursday - The AUX Cable

**Author's Note:**

> If you are in any way put off by real person fiction, please click the little back button in your browser, right now, because this fic is not for you.
> 
> I am not making claims that any of this is even remotely real, instead only borrowing their names and faces to tell a story that I thought might bring some joy to you, the reader.
> 
> With that in mind: Have fun!
> 
> New chapters will be published every 3 to 4 days

»Before we leave civilization, we are going to Starbucks.«

There was no room for argument. Mainly because Conor McKenna, the one in desperate need of coffee it seemed, was also the one driving the small, beat up 1997 Fiat Panda. 

»Yeah, sure«, Sean Finegan mumbled in the passenger seat, trying hard to hide a yawn in the checkered sleeve of his hoodie. Six-thirty in the morning really wasn’t his time of day. At least not when he had stayed up until five that very morning with his nose buried in a book.

»Oh, would you mind if I get in on that?«, a voice piped up from the backseat.

»Not at all«, McKenna replied, turning left and keeping his eyes peeled for a spot for a quick pit stop. »You want anything, Finegan?«

»Nah, ‘m fine.«

The window looked like a wonderful place to rest his head. Maybe he’d just do that for a moment.

»Grand.« The car came to a stop. »Flango?«

There was rustling as Sean Flanagan clambered out the backseat, followed by the twin thud of two car doors closing.

Finegan watched them disappear into the Starbucks, warm light spilling out from the windows of the coffee shop into the late October twilight.

This whole trip was a bad idea. He was missing class, the meeting of his d&d group and a quiet weekend in, and for what?

To carpool to the other side of Ireland with two lads from dram-soc he barely knew in hopes of salvaging whatever was salvageable of their attempt at a fall play with a four day intensive rehearsal retreat on some farm in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe not  _ nowhere _ , but Killadoon came as close to being  _ nowhere _ as possible.

Finegan could feel it, a tingle in his bones, like the feeling that told him where he would find his keys whenever he misplaced them.

The city was still mostly asleep around him and in the quiet the little tugging feeling drawing him out into the country was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to sleep in the car anyway, he reached into the backpack between his feet and pulled out a worn copy of  _ Alcatraz Smedry vs The Evil Librarians  _ and began to read in the dim light.

»We got you a coffee!«

He nearly jumped out of his skin as the door beside him was pulled open.

Sean Flanagan was beaming and way too close for comfort. He held a cup right under Finegan's nose, while dropping a small paper bag on the book still in his lap.

»And a blueberry muffin.«

»Er, thanks?«

Flanagan grinned, grabbed his hand, wrapped it around the cup and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder with a force that Finegan almost spilled the coffee.

Meanwhile McKenna had gotten back in the driver's seat, arranged his half-sweet almond milk chai latte and assortment of cake pops in the only cupholder in the car and was now rummaging around between the seats.

With a triumphant 'Aha' he pulled an auxiliary cable somewhere from the depths of the Fiat.

»Music, lads?«

»It's your car«, Finegan replied, taking an exploratory sip of his coffee. It was black, strong and steaming hot.

Perfect.

With one quick motion Flanagan had snatched up the cable and plugged it into his phone.

»I made a playlist.«

As they pulled away from the curb the  [ first notes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45cYwDMibGo) of the 'Dram-Soc Road-Trip'-Playlist Flanagan had so carefully curated thudded through the speakers.

Within the first beat McKenna exclaimed: »I love the Beatles!«

Finegan took another sip of his coffee, fickled open the paper bag and while nibbling on his muffin told himself to at least try to have fun.

»I'm surprised we haven't really seen any cows around«, Flanagan said, about two hours after they left the Dublin city limits.

»Or sheep. You'd think there would be at least some somewhere«, Finegan pitched in, looking up from his book. He had finished up  _ Alcatraz  _ about twenty minutes ago and was now engrossed in a first edition of  _ The Great and Secret Show _ by Clive Barker.

»Nnjs.« The word was mumbled around the last of the cake pops.

»Huh?«

McKenna swallowed and tried again: »They're ninjas. Sheep. I mean, they can kick like nobody's business, are fast as heck and no one would suspect them because they are cute, acting all innocent and dumb. If they are on the run they can just hide in a herd without arousing suspicion. They're the perfect undercover spies. Maybe they are out there right now, watching our every move, waiting to pounce. And we can't see them because they are ninjas.«

»You're kidding.«

»Maybe I am, maybe I am not«, McKenna said, chewing the end of his cake pop stick.

They were quiet again.

An hour from Killadoon Flanagan had to pee. Instead of having them pull over and climbing down the ditch he insisted on driving to the nearest gas station which proved to be a twenty minute detour. Five minutes to the gas station, fifteen minutes waiting for Flanagan to come back from the dodgy gas station bathroom.

In the meantime Finegan and McKenna splurged on more snacks than strictly necessary along with a bottle or two (or four) of alcohol.

Contrary to his expectations Finegan's mood had gradually improved over the last couple hours, to the point where he was almost willing to say he was looking forward to a long rehearsal weekend in the countryside.

Even the music hadn't put a damper on it. Flanagan's playlist was a wild mix of anything that might have had relevance on the radio, almost giving them whiplash as it bounced from The Beatles to One Direction, then Robbie Williams and moving on to David Bowie, followed by a medley of Disney tunes and the theme from Jurassic Park.

Time and time again FInegan found his attention drifting away from his book over to McKenna, who, seemingly without a care in the world, tapped along against the steering wheel, making up harmonies while singing along, sometimes more, sometimes less successfully.

There was something about it and as the songs cycled through he found himself cracking a small smile.

Finally Flanagan returned, his curls bouncing along with his step.

»You good?«

»Grand.«

McKenna's eyes narrowed for a second, a shadow passing over his face. It might've been a cloud that just then covered the sun.

The shadow was gone as quickly as it had come.

»Grand, let's bounce, we're meant to be there by noon.«

Back into the car and on the road they went.

Killadoon was a town one could easily drive through without noticing, only a loose cluster of houses and farms, with one pub at the heart of it.

The Fiat Panda rumpled over the dirt road google maps insisted was the right way to their destination to the fanfare of  [ _ The Final Countdown _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jK-NcRmVcw) .

At the end of the road stood a farmhouse, almost picturesque against the vast landscape behind it.

In front of it parked a couple cars, including a red Pinto and a yellow Punto.

So the rest of the cast had already arrived.

With a little sputter the Panda came to a stop beside the Pinto, the music cutting off mid chorus.

Finegan put his book back into his backpack and with a nervous flutter in his belly got out of the car.


	2. Thursday - Peter, Darren and Steve

Despite having grown up in the city, Conor was pretty sure having a shetland pony come busting out the hallway was not a regular occurrence on most farms.

The little rascal trotted up to them the minute Tina had opened the door, greeting them with a cheerful: »You made it just in time to help out with lunch.«

The two Sean's eyed the little pony with some caution, but the pony ignored them in favor of shoving his muzzle in Conor's stomach as some bastardized version of a greeting.

»Don't mind Steve, that just means he likes you«, Sarah said, appearing in the doorframe beside Tina.

»Does it now?«, Conor bit out, arms wrapped protectively around his middle.

Flanagan laughed. Finegan cracked a smile.

»C'mon, I'll show you around real quick. Then you can help set the table, we'll have lunch and then we can get cracking at rehearsals«, Sarah pushed past Steve, who was still repeatedly bumping against Conor, probably in hopes of eliciting a reaction that wasn't an attempt to get away from the insistent horse.

Steve close at their heels, the four of them set out towards the barn.

The whole time Sarah was talking, pointing to various structures. Even if they had wanted to, none of the three lads would've been able to get a word in.

»So this over here is the main building, I hope you got here alright, and that over there is the stable where all the cows are, and then there is the pasture for the sheep. Steve has his little hut over there with Darren, oh look here he comes...«

Another shetland pony trotted over, this one decidedly more buff than Steve.

Conor made an attempt to hide behind Finegan, almost making both of them trip.

Luckily the two shetland ponies were more interested in each other than him, for the time being at least.

»Do they just roam around?«

His question was drowned out by the loud cackling of a chicken that Flanagan had apparently tried to make friends with.

The chicken flapped its wings in indignation and flew a couple feet away.

Flanagan shrugged and rejoined their little excursion.

»... and here is the barn«, Sarah finished, seemingly oblivious to the chaos that had almost broken out around her.

The barn was in pretty good shape. Spacious, with a few bales of straw pushed against the far wall and a tractor parked on the other side and a hayloft spanning about two thirds of the space. Most of the ground level had clearly been swept and cleared out to make rehearsals possible. There were a couple supporting beams that could be repurposed as doorways for entrances and exits and in the back Conor thought he could spot the outline of a couch.

Light was falling through the windows, which were clean of cobwebs, giving the whole place a soft, cool glow.

A tabby cat was balancing along one of the loft beams.

»So this is where we'll spend most of our time this weekend«, Finegan nodded appreciatively.

»Yip«, Sarah grinned. »That's Luas by the way.«

She pointed at the tabby cat.

»You can drop your stuff up in the hayloft and then head over to the main building for lunch.«

»Huh?«

Flanagan asked the question they were thinking.

»Why?«

For the first time since they got to the farm Sarah's smile wavered a little.

»Well, turns out.... we, uhm, kinda miscalculated and there isn't any room in the main building anymore because Uncle Eoin's son is staying there as well, since he is helping out with the potato harvest and all that and because you were the last to arrive we decided that you would get the hayloft. Which, come to think of it isn't so bad. You three have the most space out of everyone, I mean, Claire, Tina and I are sharing one small room and the other lads the guest room and I am pretty sure Tony is sleeping on the floor there, cause we ran out of air mattresses...« She trailed off, finally noticing she would just keep digging her own grave if she kept talking.

»What if I fall down?«, Flanagan asked.

»You won't«, Sarah tried to look reassuring.

»I could sleep walk and fall down.«

»You'll be fine«, Conor said.

»You can't know that.«

»Guys.« Finegan was already halfway up the ladder to the hayloft. »We're guests here, we can sleep in the hayloft for a couple nights, no fuss. It probably won't be that bad.«

The look of gratitude on Sarah's face prevented the other two from disagreeing.

»I don't see how this could not be bad.«

Conor took in the ragged queen mattress, two tiny pillows and monstrous wool blanket.

»Okay, it might not be ideal, but-« Finegan was interrupted by Flanagan throwing himself down on the mattress, yelling: »Dibs.« The thud of him hitting the mattress was followed by an oof, since it was a harder landing than anticipated.

»We'll figure something out later tonight, maybe I can find us some more pillows and blankets till then.«

Conor sneezed. »Thanks, Fingo.«

He didn't see the small lopsided smile on Finegan's face as he dug through his duffel bag for his allergy medication.

Luas the cat watched them from the corner, tail daintily draped over his paws.

»Do you think we might be able to get some sleeping bags?«, Flanagan asked from where he was kneeling on the mattress. »This thing is not only uncomfortable as hell, but probably infested with things I don't want to even think about, much less sleep on.«

Finegan sighed. »Sure, I'll see what I can do. I know I got one in here somewhere.«

He began rummaging through his backpack.

Not even thirty seconds later he pulled out a lightly used, bright green and blue zippable sleeping bag.

The other two looked at him in astonishment.

»What other wonders does your backpack hold, may I ask?«

Finegan shrugged. »Just the basics for a trip to the country I guess.«

»The basics?«

Finegan pulled out a few items, naming them as he dropped them in a neat pile beside his backpack. A pack of matches, three books (curiously, the copy of  _ Alcatraz Smedry _ wasn't among them), a lighter, three shirts, a pocket knife, another hoodie, an assortment of cables and some underwear and socks.

Flanagan's eyebrows nearly ascended into his hair. »All of that, in that tiny backpack. You'll have to teach me some day.«

Finegan shrugged.

»Impressive«, Conor nodded, while watching him fit everything back in the worn, but well maintained backpack.

»Let's go have lunch, I'm starving.«

It had started drizzling and the second they pushed open the barn door not one, not two, but three shetland ponies stormed inside the barn, trying to get out of the rain, nearly knocking Conor to the ground.

»Jesus Christ!«, he exclaimed as he was hit with the full force of Darren, Steve and their fellow equine friend.

Flanagan cackled at the sight. Finegan pointed out that Flanagan had failed to befriend a chicken, while Conor seemed to make new friends effortlessly.

Something in the air shifted.

But then Conor laughed, fingers buried in Steve's fur, trying to push the clingy pony away to follow the other two outside and the weird mood dissipated.

Together they sludged through the forming mud over to the main building, Luas the barn cat close at their heels.


	3. Thursday - Gluten Free Pasta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to end up being an ot3 ship, and this is where things start building towards it.
> 
> If that is not your cup of tea, maybe don't read this story.
> 
> If it is though, I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Lunch was, to their detriment, an oversized pot of gluten-free pasta.

Claire and Tina, the two in charge of it, had calculated the right amount of pasta to feed roughly seventeen people.

Too bad they were only thirteen and the girls hadn't given the same attention to detail to the sauce.

If one was lucky, they might eat a spaghetti that had the memory of marinara clinging to it.

Wistfully Sean Flanagan thought about the cookie stash in his duffel.

Meanwhile Claire, who doubled up as their director and Elaine Harper, was too occupied telling them about her proposed schedule for the weekend to dig into the mountain of pasta in front of her.

A shame, since she was the main reason it was gluten-free.

»Today we will set up the rehearsal space, so we can rehearse with proper blocking, do a run through, during which you are still allowed to have your book on stage and I will be taking notes. Please try to be off book by Saturday latest though, you really have had enough time to learn your lines. I'll review my notes tonight and make a schedule for the scenes that I think need the most work. I'll let you all know tomorrow at breakfast, which will start by eight thirty. I'm hoping to get one run through in before lunch and then another one after dinner tomorrow. The rest will be individual scene work. Same goes for Saturday and Sunday, though it'll be more fine tuning by Saturday I hope. If you have any scenes or bits you still feel unsure about by Saturday afternoon let me know and we can see if we can fit them in on Sunday morning. Any questions?«

Around the table heads were shook and Claire happily clapped her hands.

Setting up the rehearsal space proved easier than anticipated.

Sean  [ hijacked the bluetooth speaker ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHypEgzJFlc) like he had hijacked the aux-cable and proceeded to dig around the barn for stuff to repurpose as set pieces with the girls while Conor and Patrick, their Teddy Brewster, nearly dropped the couch on Finegan during their attempt to carry it to the proper position.

»Help me get the rest of the props?«, Tina asked and without waiting for an answer took his hand and pulled him outside.

He laughed as they skipped through the mud on the way to the car, ducking their heads so they wouldn't get wet.

Tina quickly popped open the trunk of her VW and they both hid under the lid as the rain around them came down harder.

»She'll work us to death this weekend, won't she?«, he asked only half jokingly as he helped Tina pull the first box from the trunk.

»And you know it.« She dropped the box and huffed. »No time for fun.«

»We'll make time to have fun.« He smiled at Tina.

»Yeah?« She heaved the second box out of the car and plopped it in his arms.

»Of course! Having fun is what at least half of this trip is about.«

It was only when he saw the smile on her face that he realized she might have thought of a different kind of fun than him.

The run-through had been alright. Or at least not as much of a disaster as it could've been.

Sure, there had been bungled lines and fumbled props but the bare bones of the story were there.

Claire had bid them an early good night around ten and told them to get settled and rest up.

Finegan managed to procure two proper pillows from somewhere along with some thread bare blankets and with some tetrising around they had managed to build a sleeping place that, with a little stretch of the imagination, could almost be described as cozy.

They had unzipped the sleeping bag and used it as a base, layering a few blankets overtop.

All of them had bundled up in hoodies and Finegan and Conor shared the big blanket while Sean was left with two thinner ones.

Finegan had taken the spot closest to the edge, with Conor in the middle and Sean himself lying closest to the wall.

All in all it wasn't too bad.

Finegan had nodded off quickly, Conor following suit soon after.

Yet Sean had been lying awake for what might have been hours, headphones in and cycling through the  [ music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCi0RHLrauU) on his phone.

He solved two rounds of sudoku and then put his phone away, music still running to quiet his thoughts.

A while later he solved another sudoku.

Another aborted attempt at falling asleep.

Crossword puzzles were up next.

His phone was losing battery.

He sat up and pulled his portable charger out of his backpack. It landed with a heavy thud on the wooden floor of the hayloft.

To his right someone stirred.

»Wha'ime is it?«, Conor mumbled.

One quick look at his home screen as his phone lit up to signal it was charging. »3 am.«

»Can't sleep?« Conor spoke like he was caught in the purgatory between dreams and waking.

Instead of answering he just gave a halfhearted shrug. He doubted Conor would remember this conversation in the morning, but he didn't feel like unpacking all his issues right now. How staying awake until he was so tired he couldn't see straight anymore was better than the nightmares. Weed usually helped, but he hadn't had a chance to smoke today.

Finegan snored softly.

There was some rustling and for a second he thought Conor had kindly dropped the whole thing and gone back to sleep.

That was until he felt a tentative touch against the back of his hand.

He flinched.

»Sorry.«

Conor sounded like he meant it.

»I thought maybe I could help.«

»By holding my hand?«

»Yeah.«

The dark around them swallowed the admission like ink blotting out words on a page.

»I'm not a baby that needs his hand held to feel safe at night.«

He was. But saying it out loud would have made it true in a way he couldn't bear.

»I.... I don't know. Forget it.«

More rustling as Conor turned away from him.

Sean stared up to the ceiling, the small pulsating light of a phone charging in his periphery.

What had been most likely been meant to make him feel relieved, had only made him feel worse.

Self-doubt crept up on him like fog and minutes ticked as he lay there, motionless.

Finegan let out a happy little mumble in his sleep.

Swallowing his pride Sean turned in Conor's direction.

»McKenzie?«

»Wha-?«, came the answer, muffled. He had been right. Conor had his back turned to him.

»It wouldn't... mean anything, right? I mean-«

He couldn't get himself to ask.

»’S hand holding, Flan’gan. Doesn' mean i’s gay or wha’ever scrambled thought you ‘ave in your noggin. All tis’s my hand touchin’ yours in hopes it’ll somehow make you be more awake at rehearsals tomorrow.«

With a yawn, Conor moved till he was on his back, turning his head so they were almost nose to nose.

»Things don't have to be anythin’ more than what they are«, he said quietly.

In the dark Sean could see the vague shape of Conor holding out his hand.

Hesitantly he reached out and laced their fingers together.

Conor's hand was surprisingly warm, considering how cold the barn was.

It fit perfectly with his own.

The pounding of his heart slowly quieted down and for the first time in days he didn't just feel tired.

He felt calm.

»’kay?«, Conor asked, moving so their intertwined hands were resting between them.

»’kay«, he replied, his eyes falling closed.


	4. Friday - Three Doors and a Curtain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life got busier than anticipated, so I am only now managing to update...
> 
> Thank you for your patience, I hope it is worth the wait.

Finegan awoke with a warm weight draped across his chest.

It was Luas, the barn cat.

A look at his watch told him it was barely a quarter till seven.

»Hey buddy«, he whispered to the cat, tentatively holding out his hand.

Luas gave it a sniff.

»Can I touch you?« He slowly moved his hand closer. »Yeah? Is that okay?«

Luas squinted. He carefully stroked over his head. He didn't object.

He did it again.

»If I give you a couple more pets, will you let me get up without a fuss?«

The cat purred.

When he tried to gently lift her off his chest he protested by hooking his claws in his hoodie, but with some coaxing and more scritches he was able to convince him to let go eventually.

Mindful not to wake the other two should they still be sleeping he untangled himself from the blankets and crept over to his backpack.

With  _ The Great and Secret Show  _ in hand and his phone in his pocket he climbed down the ladder to the hayloft and took up residence on the couch they had set up last night.

He liked spending some time in a new space before playing there, familiarizing himself with the place by simply being in it.

It made him feel more at ease.

His phone blinked with three new messages. One from his mother, asking if he was going to come to Aunt Muriel's for her birthday in November, and two from his father.

A simple text reading "Rubeus is a menace and he ate my favorite pair of shoes" with a picture of a happy, tail wagging puppy that may or may not have had two heads.

He smiled and hit reply. "Can't wait to meet him. Say hi to Percy from me."

Then he responded to his mother that he most likely would not be able to make it to Aunt Muriel's.

At eight fifteen his alarm buzzing pulled him from his reading.

He had been so engrossed in it that he hadn't noticed how much time had passed.

There was a response from his mother, telling him how sad she was he wouldn't make it, but that she understood.

Pocketing his phone he made his way back up the ladder.

At this point he thought the other two must have at least been awake, considering breakfast was starting in less than fifteen minutes.

They weren't, if the two lumps still lying on the makeshift mattress were anything to go by.

Finegan was close to simply shaking them awake when he noticed the position they were lying in.

They were facing each other, foreheads almost touching, with their hands clasped together between them and judging by the shapes under the blankets, their legs were tangled as well.

Out of everything he had expected to find this morning, seeing McKenna and Flanagan in a peaceful jumble wasn't one of them.

He felt a small sting in his heart.

Well, it wasn't like he wasn't used to third-wheeling. Or being by himself for that matter.

He turned his back to them and with a loud cough dropped his book beside his backpack.

When he heard the startled grunt behind him, followed by twin exclamations of 'oh shit' he felt like he had done the right thing.

»From your entrance Patrick, page eighteen, let's go!«

Claire had not been kidding around. They had been at this for the past two hours. The same few pages, over and over. Something was always off.

Either the dialogue wasn't snappy enough or it was too snappy or someone used the wrong door to get to the kitchen or...or...or...

McKenna and Flanagan were hanging around somewhere, since they hadn't been needed for a while now and Finegan was slowly feeling like he was going insane trying to imagine discovering a dead body repeatedly.

»Good hysteria in the last run, Finny-«

»Please don't call me that.«

Claire ignored him. »-now try and bottle it up a bit more. Places!«

She wrapped her arms around his middle and they began anew.

Thankfully Tina had the balls to ask Claire after two more runs if they shouldn't move on to the next scene, as to not over rehearse this one and risk getting stuck in a rut.

Begrudgingly Claire agreed and called for McKenna and Flanagan to rehearse their first entrance.

Only no one knew where they were and they weren't answering their phones.

»I'll go look«, Finegan mumbled, glad for any excuse to escape the stuffy barn and Claire's clutches for a bit.

It was raining outside, the cool water welcome against his heated skin.

He drifted across the yard, not really paying attention to where he was going, trusting the tug in his bones.

Laughter drifted from the little hut with the shetland ponies.

A high pitched laugh, unfamiliar and slightly disconcerting.

»Vhy don't you come in, Doctor Einstein?«, the voice the laugh belonged to asked, followed by some shuffling noises and more laughter.

Not sure if he wanted to, Finegan poked his head inside the hut.

Flanagan was currently trying to climb over Darren the shetland pony to get to McKenna, who was standing in the corner and seemingly the source of the unsettling high voice.

His entire register dropped down mid sentence as he spotted Finegan.

Flanagan came to a stop on top of Darren, following McKenna's look.

»What's up?«, he asked, seemingly oblivious to the way Darren started shifting underneath him.

»Claire wants you for scene work.«

»Grand«, McKenna smiled. There was a pinch of unease in that smile.

»Ve vere just doing some charactervork«, Flanagan explained as he slid off Darren's back.

»Vat Doctor Einstein lived before he met Chonny.«

Finegan snorted. »I bet Claire will appreciate it.«

McKenna took a moment, petting Darren in a badly disguised attempt to stall. Once Flanagan had skipped out of the hut, he took an unsure step closer to Finegan, who was leaning against the doorframe, clearly waiting.

»You didn't...-?«, the question trailed off. Giving it another go, McKenna asked: »This morning?«

Finegan shook his head. »Nah.«

»And we are....?« McKenna's gestured between them, the motion trailing off the same way his questions had.

»Yeah.«

»So you are...?«

Finegan shrugged noncommittally.

McKenna nodded, letting out a sigh.

»Conor, if you aren't at rehearsal in thirty seconds Claire's gonna skin you alive.«

»Shit, you're right.«

With a half smile on his lips McKenna sprinted out into the rain.

Under the guise of reading his book Finegan had taken up residence against a bale in the barn, watching the rehearsal of Jonathan and Einstein's first scene.

Observing their scene work it was obvious to him that something was going on with McKenna and Flanagan. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but something in their dynamic had shifted.

They seemed closer and more connected than they had before, like they truly had spent years together traveling the world.

He thought back to what he had seen that morning.

Yet there was more nagging in his brain. An idea he didn't want to give too much attention to, that had been festering since the day before.

A fool's wish, if you will.

The idea that he too might be connected with them.

It was undeniable that he felt drawn to both of them, fascinated by them in a way he wasn't by other people.

Like they were puzzle pieces and he needed to know what picture they were a part of.

Wanting to know what it would be like to really laugh with them, share secrets and feel alive in a way he barely ever did.

Knowing the thought would only become more persistent the more he'd try to forget it, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a kudo or a comment if you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Friday - I am Jonathan, You are Mortimer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this UST?   
> I hope you enjoy!

»Claire, I mean it, go outside!«

»This is no way to talk with your director!«

»This is no way to direct«, Flanagan said tiredly.

Things had gotten worse after lunch.

Claire had doubled down in her perfectionism, criticizing everything from the way Conor picked up the curtain cord to the way Finegan sat down and after forty minutes of getting yelled at Flanagan had called for a time out.

»How about this«, Conor interjected. »You take a breather for let's say half an hour and let us workshop around bit and we can continue working on it with you after the run through after dinner?«

Claire huffed. »Fine.«

Without another look she left.

»Why would you volunteer us for more work after dinner?«, Finegan asked once he was sure she was out of ear shot.

»Got her off our backs, didn't it?«, Conor shrugged and put the rope they used for the curtain cord back on the little hook in one of the beams.

»There is something I'd like to try, if that's alright with the two of you. Change up the blocking a bit. Could we just run from the beginning to "We got work to do"?«

»Sure«, Finegan responded.

»Whatever you wanna do, I'm game«, Flanagan added.

Conor gave them a thumbs up and disappeared towards the back of the barn.

Finegan reset the chair.

He nodded to Flanagan and they were off.

»Ah, you go now, eh?«, Flanagan said, taking on more of a lilt as he walked over, miming handing Mortimer his hat.

The first bit went swimmingly.

Flanagan scurried around, as Einstein torn between his fear of Jonathan and his fear for Mortimer.

»And what did he do?«, he asked.

As blocked out before Finegan pulled the chair center stage, facing forward and sat down in it with one swift motion.

»He sat down.«

Watching from the shadows between two beams, Conor listened only half heartedly.

Like Jonathan, scheming while listening to his brother plot out his own demise, his mind was running.

The blocking they had used before worked well, but it felt... too impersonal.

This was death was meant to be anything but. Jonathan wanted to enjoy it.

He quietly made his way over to the rope, unhooked it and looked at Finegan, sitting in the chair like he was untouchable, babbling on about the terrible play.

»...So there he sits - that big dope - that fellow that is supposed to be bright - just waiting to be trussed up and gagged.«

It was almost too easy, too convenient.

He quickly pulled his wrists back behind the chair and tied them off as Flanagan stuffed the handkerchief in Finegan's mouth.

Finegan was protesting vehemently, as was required of the scene, yet stopped struggling the second he felt the rope wrap around his neck.

Conor had been cautious to make sure it wouldn't pull too tight if Finegan moved and was set to stop at the first sign of genuine discomfort.

Nostrils flared and breathing heavily, Finegan seemed to be teetering between anger and fear, but there was something else in there too.

Curiosity, Trust.

Flanagan delivered his next line as he finished tying up Finegan’s legs.

Conor moved back to the table, lighting the candles.

»Now, Mortimer, if you don't mind - we'll finish the story.«

He gestured to Flanagan, who got the hint and moved to turn off the light.

»Mortimer, I have been away twenty years, but never once in all that time - my dear brother - were you out of my mind.«

Instead of staying by the table and sorting through his instruments like the blocking demanded, Conor soundlessly walked over to Finegan.

»In Melbourne one night I dreamed of you.«

He watched the words land and the rise and fall of Finegan's shoulders. Another step.

»When I landed in San Francisco-«

He knelt down, right behind the chair, careful not to touch.

»I felt a strange satisfaction.«

He leaned in, so close he saw goosebumps rise where his breath touched Finegan's skin.

The rope was chafing his throat, turned it a soft pink in stark contrast with the cream color of the flax.

Conor spoke the last words like he was sharing a secret with his lover, threatening as much as seducing him.

»Once more I was in the same country as you.«

Finegan shuddered.

»Now, Doctor we go to work.«

Conor withdrew, going back into the original blocking.

Halfway back to the table he dropped out of character.

»What did you think?«

Flanagan switched the light back on, while Conor started working on untying Finegan, who spit out the handkerchief.

Flanagan blew out the candles.

Conor carefully loosened the rope around Finegan's neck, painfully aware of the way he was brushing against the reddened skin of his throat.

He thought he imagined the feeling of his erratic pulse against his fingertips.

The lack of response from his scene partners unsettled him.

»Was it too much?«

The air was heavy between them. Just as he was about to start apologizing, Flanagan spoke up.

»I don't know if Claire would like him to have more chemistry with his brother than with his fiance, but I am all for it.«

»What about you?«, Conor asked, looking down at where Finegan was rubbing his wrists. He wanted to take them and gently smooth away the angry red marks that had been left by the rope.

He didn’t.

»Flanagan has a point«, Finegan finally said. When he looked at Conor, his expression was a mix between hunger and yearning he hadn't expected.

»I am not sure we should do it again in front of an audience. I don't know if the Dean would take kindly to the public display of pseudo-incestual foreplay of a gay torture porn that isn't based on Shakespeare.«

He laughed. Short and breathy, a laugh that wasn't used to being heard.

It was contagious. Soon enough all three of them were laughing, holding their stomachs and wheezing out new ideas of what terrible things could be done on stage to disturb Dean Higgins. The ideas got more and more absurd and Finegan’s laugh louder and louder.

That was how Claire found them, giggling and collapsed on the ground.

Her tirade at their unprofessionalism only made them laugh more.

It was hours later, as he watched Finegan and Claire argue about the woes of dramatic theater, that Conor realized Finegan hadn't said that they should never do it again at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to drop a comment or a kudo if you liked this chapter.  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Friday - All Arms and Legs

»Sarah and I had an idea«, Tina murmured to Flanagan, as they did the dishes together after dinner. He wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten roped into it, but he didn't mind.

Even though Tina had used it as an excuse to brush up against him any chance she got.

»Turns out, that between us, we got everything to put on a little movie night after rehearsal. Laptop, speakers, projector.... We figured we could maybe put up a sheet in the barn and use the couch? I don't think everyone would want to, so it wouldn't be too crowded either. Maybe have a couple drinks, I know Conor has some booze. What do you think?«

He looked at her, elbow deep in dishwater. »Didn't you forget one important aspect? Claire?«

Tina put on a concerned expression that looked just about fifty percent too concerned.

»She might have had a bit of gluten in her dinner tonight, which will make her feel tired and maybe a bit nauseous.«

»You're evil.« He stated it as a fact.

»It's not like she will get seriously sick. Just.... more easily convinced that maybe we should do half a run tonight.«

They didn't do a run at all that night. Claire claimed she had a migraine and went to bed straight away, telling them to do scene work by themselves and that they would work harder the next day to make up for it.

The others couldn't believe their luck.

While Patrick and Sarah set up the makeshift movie theater, Flanagan called dibs on the couch and McKenna went up the hayloft to get some things from his duffel.

Tina and Finegan came back into the barn laden with pillows, blankets, snacks and glasses for everyone.

»Turns out the only thing I have on my computer is 21 and 22 jump street, so I guess we'll watch that«, said Patrick to no one in particular, as the others spread out the blankets and pillows and Flanagan occupied the couch.

Meanwhile McKenna had returned from his quest and taken to filling the glasses with shots of vodka for everyone.

He kept them all lined up in front of him, not letting anyone touch them.

Once the general bustle had died down he spoke.

»Who here has done german porn before?«

The answering silence was only broken by Tina and Sarah's giggles.

»Okay, where is how it works.«

With a flourish he pulled out a bunch of little paper packages in all the colors of the rainbow.

»Everyone, pick one of these. They come in different flavors, one of which can only be described as green. C'mon now, take on.«

He held them out and cautiously everyone picked out one of the little packs.

Flanagan sat up in curiosity and without missing a beat Finegan took the chance to plop himself down on the couch.

He held one of the little green packs and Flanagan decided to pick out the same.

»Do not open them yet!«

Patrick slowly let his orange pack sink back into his lap.

»First you shake it«, McKenna demonstrated.

»Then on three you rip it open, pour the whole pack in your mouth, add your shot of vodka, close your mouth, let it foam for as long as you dare and proceed to swallow.

All. Of. It. Be careful cause if it comes out your nose you lose. Any questions?«

»Why is it called german porn?«, Flanagan asked.

»I have no idea. Everybody ready?«

Nods.

»Then grab yourself a glass.«

Once they all had one, McKenna started shaking his pack.

Directing them he ripped it open, counted and downed the whole thing.

He had been right. The green package tasted... green.

Flanagan was so caught up in the taste of it he almost forgot to swallow in time.

The powder really did foam like nobody's business.

It was almost like it was trying to burrow into his brain.

He quickly swallowed, turning to Finegan who had a similar expression of disbelief on his face.

Mind still clouded with the feeling of the german porn they spent a moment simply looking at each other.

Finegan's eyes were open wide and he was breathing heavily through his mouth, as if he had burned his tongue with the bubbles.

It was then that Flanagan noticed something.

Finegan's eyes were...

»Green«, he said, quietly.

»Told ya it tastes green«, McKenna said, flopping down on his other side.

Whatever spell they had been under broke as the couch dipped under Conor's weight.

»You did«, Finegan replied, awkwardly shifting around and fishing his phone out of his pocket.

Tina was sitting with her back against his legs, clearly a bit miffed after both Finegan and McKenna had refused to get off the couch so she could sit with Flanagan.

He had been grateful at first, but as the movie went on and more shots were had and the booze loosened limbs and inhibitions he started to doubt his judgement.

The couch was not meant to seat three guys and their personal space and thus he had been squished up between the other two, the heat off their bodies welcome in the cool of the barn.

»Oh, Miranda rights«, Conor mumbled, taking a swig from the gas station tequila.

They had given up on glasses a while ago and the vodka had disappeared somewhere in Sarah's general direction.

Flanagan was surprised Conor had been able to follow the drinking game, considering he himself wouldn't have been able to recount any of the storyline from the past twenty minutes. That was how long Finegan's forearm had been resting on his thigh.

Finegan had been texting again and again during the movie, trying to hide his phone screen, whether that was because he didn't want people to know what he was doing or trying to be considerate of them watching the movie, Flanagan didn't know.

All he knew was that at one point Finegan had shuffled around a bit in an attempt to get more comfortable on the crammed couch and as a result extended his personal bubble to include Flanagan's legs as an armrest and sinking further into the cushions.

[ Once more ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFFQoyP6rBQ&list=TLPQMTQwNjIwMjBmkRasyj4-dA&index=12) lost in thought he missed Conor holding out the tequila.

He almost jumped when he noticed him, close enough that he could make out the dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks, even in the flickering light of the projector.

»Miranda rights«, Conor said again, like that explained why his eyes kept flicking down to Flanagan's mouth.

He swallowed and took the bottle from Conor, their fingers brushing, reminding him of that morning, waking up holding hands and almost as close as they were now.

He drank and handed the bottle over to Finegan, who put his phone away, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and as a result moving his arm off Flanagan's thigh.

Disappointment welled up inside of him.

To his right Conor stretched and dropped his arm on the back of the couch.

There was some action scene going on on screen, but Flanagan was fascinated with watching Conor's long fingers slowly card through Finegan's hair.

And with how Finegan dropped his head back and let him do it.

The disappointment inside of him grew as he felt more and more like an obstacle between the two.

That was until he felt a touch on his thigh, feather light and barely there.

He let his eyes drift down.

Finegan slowly moved his hand further up, until his whole palm was resting on Flanagan's thigh, the tips of his finger almost touching the inseam of his jeans.

Whatever negative feeling he had felt had disappeared as his heart started beating in his throat.

At a glacial pace he moved and placed his own hand on Finegan's thigh.

He didn't know what game they were playing, here in the dark, with their castmates right there and alcohol clouding his judgement and he found he didn't care.

All he wanted was to touch the other two and be touched in return. Simple.

Things didn't need to be more than what they were.

Conor patted Finegan on the head. »Gun.«

Finegan passed him the tequila after taking a drink, without moving his hand from its spot on Flanagan's thigh.

He noticed Conor's eyes flick down to their hands. From there they wandered around the room and he could almost see the wheels turning in Conor's head.

With a small smile playing around his lips Conor took a sip of the tequila.

Then he turned his attention back to Flanagan, putting a finger to his own lips.

The gesture was easy to understand.

_ Quiet. _

Flanagan found himself distracted by the way his lips wrapped around the neck of the tequila bottle as he took another sip.

But this time Conor didn't swallow.

Instead he put the bottle down somewhere and gently put his fingers under Flanagan's chin, tilting his head upwards.

Their lips touched and he opened his mouth. The taste of tequila flooded his tongue and his hand on Finegan's thigh tightened.

Shots rang out on screen and pain exploded from his shin.

Tina had jumped in fright and elbowed him hard.

With a chuckle Conor dropped his head on Flanagan's shoulder who let out a groan, equal parts pain and frustration.

Tina hadn't even realized what she had done.

The pain in his shin had some sobering effect on him and with one last little squeeze he withdrew his hand from Finegan's thigh.

For the first time in a while Flanagan tried to return his attention to the story on screen.

He would have succeeded if it wasn't for Conor pressing a kiss right against the soft skin below his ear before sitting up straight again and acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as always, a kudo would make my day.  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	7. Saturday - Hayfever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a kudo and the lovely comment!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> This one delves a tiny bit deeper in the mythology aspect of this fic.

»Conor, I mean it, get up there, it's two am and I want to sleep.« Finegan tried his best to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

»Shhhhhh, you'll wake the homophones«, Conor whispered, half sitting, half leaning on the rungs of the ladder to the hayloft.

He hooked his fingers in Finegan's belt loops, pulled him in to stand between his splayed legs.

Movie night had finished not too long ago and the others had stumbled back to their own rooms after cleaning up the worst of it.

Finegan, arguably the most sober of the three, had made it his mission to get the other two back up into the hayloft to sleep.

Flanagan had gone up easily, climbing the ladder like a tipsy monkey while holding a pillow that had been forgotten and was now lumbering around, judging by the sounds coming from the loft.

Conor proved to be more difficult, since he didn't see why he couldn't sleep on the couch. Or why the others couldn't sleep there with him.

Finegan had a hard time coming up with a good enough reason why he couldn't, now that Conor's hands were slowly creeping under his hoodie.

Drunk Conor apparently meant cuddly Conor.

Cuddly and vaguely horny.

He was saved from having to admit defeat as Conor's thumb stroked over his hipbone by Flanagan's curly mop of hair appearing at the edge of the loft.

»McKenzie, get your perky ass up here and look at what I built! Fingo, you too!«

Conor let his head fall back to look up at where Flanagan's face disappeared again.

»What, you're not gonna shush him?«, Finegan teased, trying to gently pull Conor's hands off himself. He didn't succeed.

»He says I have a perky butt«, Conor beamed.

»That is all you got from that?«

Instead of answering right away Conor just smiled, sliding his hands around Finegan's waist and into the back pockets of his jeans.

After a moment of quiet consideration, he said: »Yours is perky too.«

»Lads, come on!«

Reluctantly Conor let himself be nudged up the ladder.

In the loft Flanagan had rearranged the bed into what appeared to be a lump.

One big, shapeless lump that contained all their stuff.

He seemed very proud of it.

»Uhm, what is it?«, Finegan asked after a good minute of looking at it, while Conor poked at the thing.

»A pillow fort«, Flanagan replied, curls bouncing with excitement. »For us.«

He let out something like a squeak when McKenna swept him up in a hug, lifting him up so his toes were barely touching the floor.

»It's great«, he mumbled into Flanagan's shoulder, before setting him back down with a tad too much force, leaving him red cheeked and swaying.

A few moments later all three of them were nestled in between the pillows, trying to arrange themselves in a comfortable way, like a game of human mikado.

Somehow Finegan had ended up in the middle this time after being pulled in by the other two while trying to at least set an alarm for the morning.

Now Conor was koala'ing against his side while Flanagan rested his head on his forearms, which he had conveniently placed on Finegan's chest.

As things calmed down Finegan found himself absentmindedly playing with Flanagan's hair, nothing filling the silence between them but the sound of their breathing.

Out of everything he had expected to happen on this trip, a three person cuddle pile had definitely not been on the list.

The buzzing of his phone somewhere broke the peaceful atmosphere.

Flanagan groaned as Finegan dug around to find it, effectively giving up his status as the most comfortable pillow in the fort.

»Who 's it?«, Conor mumbled, fingers curling into Finegan's hoodie as if he was scared he'd leave.

He meant to say 'no one' but instead he found himself telling the truth.

»My dad.«

Finegan wouldn't have noticed the way Flanagan's breath hitched in response, if Flanagan hadn't been halfway draped across his chest.

He dropped his phone back in the pillows without answering his father.

Instead he put his arm around Flanagan's shoulders, not sure what else to do.

»My father barely talks to me«, Conor said. »Some years I get a card for my birthday. ‘N that's it.«

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the safety of their pillow fort, but Finegan knew none of the words spoken could be said anywhere else.

Or to anyone else.

»I only really found out about my father a couple years ago. He's got family. I was an accident.«

None of them were looking at each other.

»So was I.« Conor sounded distant.

Flanagan wiped his nose on his sleeve.

»Me too.« The admission was so quiet the other two barely heard it.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Something inside him broke as Conor reached over, wrapping his arm around Flanagan too, holding on like he was trying to hold all of them together.

The happiness he had felt over the last couple hours, flirting and playing around, had long since faded, replaced now with an emptiness he didn't know how to describe.

He felt like one of those abandoned places, hollowed out and forgotten, and yet...

When he touched his face he felt it was wet.

Another thing to add to the list of things he hadn't expected.

He woke up with two bodies wrapped around him.

Flanagan was already awake, bleary eyed and looking as bad as he felt.

»Do you think hayfever is a good enough excuse for why we look like shit?«

He cracked a half hearted smile.

»Or we say it was the german porn.«

»Dnsult th'prn«, Conor's voice was muffled against Finegan's shoulder blades.

This time he managed a chuckle.

The hollow in his chest was slowly filling again.

When he picked up his phone to check the time, he noticed his father's message from the night before.

'Talked to my brother, he says he might drop by later to check things out.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed and leave a kudo or a comment you will make my day <3


	8. Saturday - Rain, Mud and the Stubborness of Shetland Ponies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a little bit of greek mythology, shall we.  
> Thank you all for reading and a huge thanks to all of you who left kudos and fandomxtrash for all the lovely comments!!!  
> I hope you enjoy <3

The door of the Fiat Panda was pulled open roughly and a split second later Conor let himself fall into the driver's seat, startling Finegan who had been finishing up  _ The Great and Secret Show _ . They had decided to skip lunch in favor of stocking up their snack supply at a nearby convenience store.

Flanagan had sadly been intercepted by Tina on the way to the car and not been able to wiggle himself out of it.

So it was only the two of them.

Taking one look at Conor he knew something was wrong.

»Are you okay?«

Conor was gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to Earth.

»Huh?«

He looked over to Finegan, wide eyed and seemingly unsure of his surroundings.

»What happened that got you all... off kilter?«, Finegan tried again.

»There is a guy in there claiming he's the greek god Poseidon and my father, all while selling me a packet of crisps and wearing a name tag that says 'Patricia'!«

»Oh.«

»Oh? Seriously? That- Are you- What the fuck?«

Conor abandoned the hope to string together another coherent sentence, instead settling for staring at the figure behind the counter of the small convenience store, who seemed most interested in his bait and tackle magazine.

After a moment, Finegan tentatively spoke up. »Do you believe him?«

»What?« Disbelief colored Conor's voice. »That he is Poseidon? Or that his name is Patricia?«

»That he is your Dad.« Finegan's voice was quiet and if looks could kill he was sure that at this point he would have at least been seriously injured.

»You have got to be kidding me. Ah fuck, I forgot the sodas.«

»C'mon, I'll come with«, Finegan offered.

»I'm not going back in there.«

»Fine, then I am getting him to come out.«

»Don't you dare! I don't want anything to do with that nutcase, even if he is my father. Especially if he is my father.«

»I think it is important you two talk«, Finegan got out of the car and took off towards the store. This was not how he had planned for the whole thing to go down, but he had to admit he hadn't really had a plan at all.

Despite his longer legs Conor didn't catch up with him until Finegan had made it to the front door of the store, pulling it open just as Conor grabbed his arm.

They stood there, half in the doorway, frozen the way people are the moment they realize that falling is inevitable.

»Please. Don't.«

Their eyes met briefly and Finegan could see the little cracks in the tension of Conor's face.

»Okay«, he finally replied. »I'll get the sodas. You can join me or not, it's your choice. I'd rather you did, though.«

Conor let him go.

The man behind the counter put down his magazine as Finegan approached him.

Despite everything inside him screaming for him to get back into his car and drive, drive until he was nowhere and anywhere, Conor found himself watching them, unable to move away.

Now that he wasn't occupied fishing for his wallet, distracted by the name tag or completely taken aback by hearing the words "Hello, I am Poseidon, your father, it is good to finally meet you, will this be all for today?", he had the chance to look at the man behind the counter.

Really look at him.

Blue eyes, so much like his own, were scrutinizing Finegan as he approached.

Dark hair, lightly curling all over the place and a strong nose, but without freckles.

The same strong jaw but no dimple in his cheek as he gave Finegan a half smile.

The resemblance was undeniable.

Conor quickly moved to inspect the nearby shelf when he saw the man's gaze shift from Finegan over to himself.

He inched down the shelf, trying to feign interest in the sparse array of stuff while listening to their conversation.

»Hello, Sir«, Finegan began and Conor didn't need to look to know he was fiddling with his sleeves. »My friend bought some stuff here but he accidentally left the sodas behind, I believe. I wondered if I could pick them up.«

Conor tried to make himself smaller as he felt the man's eyes on him.

»You mean your buddy over there, fascinated by the cat food?«

»Yeah...«

There was a thud as the man put a twelve pack of bubly's on the counter. »You got the receipt?«

Conor cringed internally. He had no idea where the receipt was. Maybe tucked somewhere in the bag tucked between beef jerky and oreos, maybe he hadn't even taken it, but he was sure Finegan didn't have it.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Finegan search through his pockets in a clear stall.

Until, with a triumphant 'aha', he pulled out a crumpled paper.

»Got it.«

It felt like a small weight was lifted off Conor's chest. Unconsciously he took a step closer to the two.

The man took the receipt and gave it a quick once over.

»Next time tell your friend he can come and pick up his own stuff. I don't bite.«

Finegan let out a short laugh, that was about fifty percent nerves.

»Can I be honest?«

A quick glance told Conor the man was watching Finegan, bemusedly.

»If you are brave enough.«

»I think you might have spooked him a bit. There are... more sensitive ways to say these things.«

»Really?«

»Yeah«, Finegan nodded. »I mean, in my experience it is quite jarring to find out a deity is your parent.«

»Is it now.«

Conor nearly dropped the can of catfood he was holding when he heard what Finegan said next: »It definitely was something else when Hades showed up to my sixteenth birthday party. But at least he took his time explaining everything. He had prepared a little presentation. Come to think of it, it was a bit weird. But it was considerate too.«

With a plonk Conor put the can back on the shelf, using it to steady himself.

»I might be a bit rusty, things have changed a lot since the olden days«, the man behind the counter conceded.

»Do you want my advice as a demi-god who had no clue about the whole thing for most of his life?«

»You have a lot of balls, little guy, to speak this way with a god. It might get you in trouble one day.«

»I just want to help my friend.«

Conor's throat tightened, his breath getting stuck for a moment.

»Let me hear your small piece of wisdom then.«

»Give him time. And more importantly give him a way to contact you. For when he is ready.«

They were quiet for a moment.

It was his father who spoke first.

»It is a shame people don't believe in heroes anymore. Hades might have had his first with you.«

»Thank you.« Finegan cleared his throat. »You might want to consider a new name tag next time.«

»Don't overdo it, little hero. Now take your bubly's before I change my mind.«

The words were said with a smile and a hint of mischief, but Finegan knew there was an ounce of truth to them as well.

He took the bubly's and made his way over to Conor, who was now looking at his father, seeming all like the lost boy he was.

He didn't move when Finegan brushed the back of his hand against his, like he wasn't sure whether he was welcome to take it right then.

»Why now?«, Conor asked, still looking at his father.

»Because mortal lives are short«, he responded. »As my brother kindly reminded me.«

»Okay.«

With a nod he broke his gaze away, took Finegan's hand and left the little store as well as the god of the sea behind him, let Finegan take the keys to the Panda and drive them back to the farm.

The whole drive he didn't do anything, except stare out the window.

And hold onto the receipt, which had an address scribbled on the back now, in ballpoint pen.

  
  


Instead of trying to catch the tail end of lunch Finegan opted they should relax in the hayloft until the next round of rehearsals. A moment of quiet to settle back in and recalibrate seemed like a good idea.

Conor let himself flop onto the pillow fort.

The pillow fort said: »Ow.«

Conor jumped. »Jesus!«

The fort moved, until Flanagan's head appeared between the pillows, like a talking pumpkin in a haunted pumpkin patch.

»Shhhhhhhh, I'm hiding from Tina.«

Finegan looked at him questioningly.

»She tried to come on to me in the pony shed!«

He looked appalled at the idea. »But what about you?«

He wiggled some more, curls falling in his face and slowly dug himself out of the fort.

»Did you get everything we talked about?«

»Yes, we got you your bubly…«, Finegan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

The whole thing with Tina was eating away at him.

Conor gave himself a little shake and looked at the other two. »Would you be up for running lines?«

So they sat there, around the pillow fort, sharing bubly's and oreos, throwing lines back and forth until Claire and the others came back into the barn for another run through.


	9. Saturday - Fairy Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

That night the general mood in the hayloft was... mediocre to say the least.

It had started going down when Claire had had a nervous breakdown after Patrick confused two of the doors on stage again and then worsened as Uncle Eoin interrupted after dinner rehearsals to draft everyone to help look for the Shetland ponies.

The weather had turned downright hostile in the last few hours, rain pelting the earth and wind blowing across the hills like it was trying to rid them of everything that didn't have roots.

It was through this weather that they had trudged in small groups, yelling for Peter, Darren and Steve, until Finegan had spotted the three ponies huddled by a tree near the cliffs.

No one could explain why the ponies had ventured so far from the farm. The how could be explained by multiple fences that had been torn down by the wind, pieces blown across the hills.

Now Peter, Darren and Steve were back in their little shed, showered with attention and care by the girls cooing over them.

And the three lads were back in the hayloft, drenched to the bone, mud crusting the hems of their jeans, cold and miserable.

Flanagan was the one to break the silence. He was also the only one who hadn't made any attempt to make himself more comfortable.

»I refuse to accept this.«

Conor stopped trying to dry off his hair with the towel Sarah had given them, directing his attention to Flanagan, who was standing in the middle of the loft, hands on his hips, tapping his foot and dripping water on the floor.

»Accept what?«, Finegan asked, while digging through his backpack for some spare clothes.

»This.... glum, gloomy.... whatever this is.«

Conor and Finegan looked at eachother.

Flanagan crossed his arms. »This weekend was supposed to be fun goddammit.«

»Sometimes things don't work out the way we think they w-«, Finegan didn't get to finish.

»I will make it fun.«

»Huh?«, was Conor's eloquent contribution.

Flanagan gave both of them a quick once over.

»Since you are already halfway dry, you two stay here, I'm gonna go and get some stuff.«

»Now?«

»Just from the main building. Meanwhile, if you could fluff up the pillow fort and pile up anything we have in snacks, drinks and maybe spare me a dry corner of the towel, that would be great.«

With those words he disappeared down the ladder.

He returned roughly ten minutes later, with a bunch of stuff stuffed protectively under his jacket.

»Are you going to tell us what all this for?«, Conor asked, now clad in only boxer shorts and a hoodie, damp hair standing up in all directions, watching in fascination as Flanagan dumped a wild assortment of things on the pillow fort.

»Mostly the ambience«, came the reply.

Finegan, wearing a baseball tee and sweatpants, picked up the bluetooth speaker. »How did you get all this?«

Flanagan only waggled his eyebrows in response, pulling at a cable peeking out of the pile, making more of a mess as he tried to pull it out.

»I got it«, Conor offered and in only a few moments untangled the string of battery powered fairy lights.

»Ambience«, Flanagan repeated, like that was all ever needed in explanation, sorting through the pile of things, putting them around the pillow fort in a way that at least seemed to make sense to him.

Finegan managed to put them up, though a bit haphazardly, finding little hooks and nails in the walls the others just didn't seem to be able to discover.

Flanagan took one last look at their work and deemed it worthy.

He grinned at the other two. »Now, does anyone have any dry clothes I could borrow?«

The fairy lights gave off a warm glow, like fireflies caught in the hayloft.

They were sitting in their pillow fort, snacks piled up right by its side,  [ music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgX4dmrKO0w) coming from the bluetooth speaker and Flanagan was wearing one of Conor's hoodies.

He had pushed up the sleeves as best as he could so they didn't impede his movement as he rolled a joint.

»Have either of you smoked before?«

Finegan nodded while Conor shook his head, muttering: »I still can't believe you made me take a fifteen minute detour just to buy weed.«

Finegan laughed, gently nudging Conor's shoulder.

Flanagan took the first hit, smoke coming from his nose like he was a dragon in disguise and offered the joint to Finegan, who instead of taking it leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the filter end, looking at Flanagan as he sucked in a deep breath.

Flanagan's fingertips brushed against his lips as he let go, blowing out the smoke.

»Tastes good«, he commented, turning to Conor who tentatively took the joint from Flanagan.

»So I just...?« He mimed putting it in his mouth and taking a deep breath.

Finegan nodded.

»Maybe don't breathe in too deep or you'll end up-«, Flanagan's advice was interrupted by Conor having a coughing fit.

»-coughing«, Flanagan finished halfheartedly, patting him on the back and taking the joint from him.

Laughing, Finegan let himself fall back into the pillow fort.

The joint was gone and the three of them were sprawled around the fort, Finegan and Flanagan caught in a heated discussion.

»McKenna, we need you to settle an argument over here!«, Finegan exclaimed from his perch on top of a pillow stack, making Conor look up from his carefully assembled orerereoreorereooo, precariously balanced on his knee.

»What's up?«

»I think they leaned too much into the tv aspect and it got gimmicky, while Flango over here thinks it was perfectly alright.«

»You can pry the teletubbies from my cold dead hands, Finegan!«

Both turned to Conor with an expression like they were sure he had to agree with their point of view and denounce the other's.

Only Conor had no idea what the hell they were talking about. The last twenty minutes or so he had been entirely occupied with separating oreos into the cookie o and the creamy re parts, to reassemble them into an entirely new cookie.

»Peter Pan goes wrong?«, Flanagan prompted, eyes wide and brows going up into his hair.

»Never seen it«, Conor answered, turning his project into a reorerereoreorereooo.

Flanagan gasped and Finegan clutched his chest.

»How?!«

»We gotta fix that.«

»Poor boy going through life in ignorance.«

»He doesn't know what he is missing!«

The music cut off.

Finegan had disconnected Flanagan's phone and was now trying to find a bootleg of  _ Peter Pan goes wrong  _ while connecting his own phone with the speaker.

Flanagan took the o Conor was about to add to his reorerereoreorereooo and ate it, muttering: »Doesn't know Peter Pan goes wrong.«

»My o«, Conor whispered, a shadow of disappointment flitting over his face.

»Found it!«, Finegan said, sitting back down and leaning his phone against the little bowl that doubled as their ashtray.

As they watched  _ Peter Pan goes wrong _ , huddled around Finegan's phone, the reorerereoreorereooo slowly turned into an orerereoreorere and then a rereoreo until only a re was left.

Conor ended up so engrossed in watching the play that he didn't notice the other two looking at him while he licked his fingers clean of the sticky white re.

Flanagan swallowed hard and tore his gaze away. Finegan cleared his throat.

»Do you see what I mean? They had a perfectly good play but they felt like they needed to make it more than that«, he said, just as the pirate ship drove through the bbc news cast.

»They saw an opportunity and they took it«, Flanagan declared.

»But it wasn't a good choice!«

»It's the one time you can see a teletubby on a pirate ship!«

»Will you shut up about the teletubbies, Flanagan?!«

»Make me!«

And Finegan did.

He grabbed Flanagan by the front of his hoodie and, to the sounds of the pirate ship crashing back onto the stage, kissed him.

Flanagan looked dazed when he pulled back, taking a second to focus on Finegan, who was still holding on to him by his hoodie.

»I'd have to hear that argument again«, he finally said.

Finegan nodded, leaning in. »Good idea.«

His hand found its way into Flanagan's curls, even wilder than usual now, and he could feel Flanagan's arms wrap around his waist, almost shy in the way he pulled him closer.

They were only a breath apart, Flanagan nearly going cross-eyed cause he wouldn't stop looking at him, as if he had to make himself see it to believe it was real.

It didn't matter which one ended up closing the distance between them.

They kissed, like in that moment time didn't exist.

Finegan uncurled the fingers still clasping at Flanagan's hoodie, moved them to hold on to his hip instead, grounding him in a way only touch could.

Flanagan in turn let his fingertips ghost over Finegan's cheeks, feeling his scars, before burying his hands in his hair, messing it up.

When they broke apart, Finegan found himself leaning his forehead against Flanagan's, taking a moment to just breathe.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze fell on Conor, who was watching them, eyes dark with his pupils blown wide and loosely holding Finegan's phone.

Distantly Finegan registered the sounds of a guitar.

Conor must've started the music up again.

Becoming aware of Conor's eyes on them, Flanagan let go, expression unreadable.

Finegan immediately missed the feeling of him, biting his lip as he tried to figure out how to articulate what he knew needed to be said.

»Let's dance«, Conor said, letting the phone fall onto the pillows, in an attempt to break the awkward tension that had built up.

»We are three people«, Flanagan said quietly, catching Finegan's eye before turning back to Conor.

He looked at them with a slight head tilt, as if he hadn't really thought about that. Slowly the hint of a smile appeared in his eyes and he gave a half hearted shrug.

»So? We'll figure something out.«

Next Finegan spoke up, fiddling with one of the last oreos: »Three parts can make a pretty decent whole. I mean, I learned today the o and the re taste okay by themselves, but I still prefer an oreo.«

He nibbled the oreo, unsure if he had managed to get his point across.

Conor looked about ready to explode with laughter, desperately holding onto what semblance of composure he still had.

He lost it when Flanagan put a hand on Finegan's shoulder, saying with all the sincerity he could muster: »Truly poetic. Now, are you an o or a re?«

Finegan rolled his eyes, but without any bite behind it, already halfway to laughing himself. »You're a dickhead.«

Conor wiped a tear from his eyes, still sputtering. »You are both very clearly the o's.«

»Really? And why is that?«

»Cause you're both Sean's«, Conor explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world.

»That might be true, but that doesn't explain why you should be the re«, Finegan said, gravely.

»Of course«, Flanagan chipped in, vaguely picking up where Finegan was going with this.

»I think we need to investigate further.«

With a mischievous grin Finegan moved over to Conor, Flanagan following suit.

»For science.«

Conor, who was realizing now that he might be in over his head with the two ganging up on him, tried to diffuse.

»Obviously it's 'cause I am the palest.«

»I think we'll have to check that.«

»Gotta be sure«, Flanagan added, coming up to Conor's other side, effectively boxing him.

»Wouldn't want to end up with an ooo by accident.«

Finegan gently pushed Conor to lie down against the pillows, the air in the hayloft heavy now with a completely different kind of tension.

»Or maybe...«, he whispered hovering so close above him that all Conor would have to do was tilt his chin up a fraction and they would be kissing.

»You just like being caught between two guys.«

Flanagan quirked an eyebrow. »We should test both theories, just to be safe.«

Finegan sat back up just as Conor moved to kiss him, leaving him to sink back against the pillows, letting out a frustrated huff.

Flanagan's face lit up. »One sec.«

He turned away, disappearing over the edge of the fort.

Conor propped himself up on his elbows, only to be stopped by Finegan's hand on his chest.

»Stay.«

He did.

A moment later Flanagan reappeared, a new joint in his hand.

»I can't believe we didn't do this before.«

Smirking he lit the joint. »Considering your stunt with the tequila, you'll like this.«

Finegan squinted, then knowingly raised an eyebrow.

Flanagan took a deep hit, handing the joint over to Finegan.

He leaned over Conor, so close their lips almost touched, holding his chin between thumb and forefinger, coaxing his mouth open and exhaling the smoke.

As he was about to pull away to let Finegan have a turn he felt Conor's hand on his neck, pulling him closer instead.

He didn't need to be told twice.

Conor kissed differently to Finegan, with more urgency and maybe a little less care but all the same intoxicating.

He let out a breathy little moan as Finegan kissed down his throat, one hand pulling on Flanagan's hoodie, urging him to take it off, which Flanagan happily did, breaking away for a second.

There, he looked at them, letting himself enjoy the view, Conor pliant under Finegan's body, allowing him to move his wrists above his head, holding them there with one hand, the joint still delicately between his fingers as he kissed along Conor's jawline, the other hand creeping underneath his hoodie, pushing it up.

Flanagan took the joint from Finegan, took another hit and put it in their makeshift ashtray before moving back in to join the other two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love ;)  
> Thank you for reading!!!


	10. Sunday - Plato wasn't Belgian

He woke up with his arms wrapped around Flanagan who had tucked himself in under Finegan's chin.

At first he couldn't figure out what had woken him, because it hadn't so much been the presence of something, like the ringing of his alarm, but rather the absence of something.

Conor, who had fallen asleep as the biggest spoon of three, making them a reoo, wasn't in the pillow fort anymore.

Finegan carefully untangled himself from Flanagan and sat up.

It was still dark in the barn.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness he spotted a shape leaning against the wall.

Conor pulled out an earbud, offering it to him without saying a word when Finegan sat down beside him.

Finegan took it.

There was no sound coming from it and he waited, not saying anything as he watched Conor quickly skip through a couple songs via his lockscreen, before settling on  [ one ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGWtF1AttTw) .

It was 6:43 in the morning.

6:58, they still hadn't said a word to each other.

They simply sat there, shoulder against shoulder, listening to music together.

At times Finegan thought he heard Conor sing along, so faint and quiet he might have imagined it.

7:12, Conor spoke.

»When you met your father...« He trailed off.

»If for a moment I believe what you said is true-«

Words dissipating in the dark like the smoke last night. And just like the smoke the memory of them lingered, changing the atmosphere.

»If Poseidon is my father, and Hades is yours.... what does that mean?«

He turned to Finegan.

»If greek gods are real, what else is? What isn't? What...are things?«

After a moment of quiet contemplation Finegan answered.

»I don't know.«

They sat in silence, the playlist having finished.

»When I found out Hades was my father...«, he said quietly, putting it into words for maybe the first time in his life. »My world suddenly got so much bigger. In a way I could barely handle. But somehow I did. And now it's just part of it. A part I can barely talk about, but a part of my life nonetheless. I didn't choose it, but I chose to accept it. Hades isn't half bad. People accept crazy things as fact all the time and beliefs are sent tumbling every day. Somehow life keeps going. I mean, the London underground isn't a terrorist organization.«

Conor huffed, taking the thread and carrying on: »And Plato wasn't Belgian.«

Finegan chuckled.

A noise came from the pillow fort, startling them both.

»'tws Arsttle.«

Conor swallowed. »What?«

This time Flanagan's voice was clearer: »The quote's "Aristotle wasn't Belgian", not Plato.«

It was 7:14.

»Did we wake you?«, Conor asked, though Finegan was pretty sure he wasn't as much concerned about Flanagan's sleep as he was about how much he had heard of their conversation.

There was some shuffling while Flanagan sat up.

»Nah, woke up cause I was cold. Turns out my furnace and my radiator decided to leave the fort.«

The forced levity in his voice sealed the deal.

He had heard everything they had said.

Finegan decided to bite the bullet.

»Flango, I have to tell you something.«

Flanagan blinked owlishly when Finegan switched on the fairy lights.

»Greek gods are real and my father is Hades, god of the underworld.«

Flanagan looked like someone had pressed pause in his brain.

Then he gave himself a little shake of the head.

»Okay.«

»Okay?«, Conor repeat.

»Does that mean you can do stuff?«

Finegan was just as much caught off guard by this question as Conor was.

»Uhm, yeah, I guess? I mean, you are just... okay with this?«

Flanagan shrugged. »Others have probably already told you you sound insane, so why not shake it up a bit?«

Finegan blinked a couple times. He considered the possibility that Flanagan might still be high.

»So what can you do?«, Flanagan looked about as excited as a kid at Christmas.

»I can find things«, Finegan edged carefully. »Lost things. Forgotten things. That kind of stuff.«

»Huh.«

A light bulb lit up in Conor's mind: »Is that how you got the receipt yesterday?«

Finegan nodded.

»And most of these things. My books.« He gestured vaguely towards the fort.

»Can you show us?«, Flanagan had perched himself on the top of the pillow fort.

Finegan concentrated, tried to sense that tingle in his bones to first find a forgotten object of a passable size and then summon it to the hayloft, but instead he felt... nothing.

It was like he had been cut off from whatever powers he had.

He tried again.

Panic was rising when he still couldn't grasp anything with his mind.

Something was blocking his powers.

Something was terribly wrong and he didn't know what it was.

Hands brought him back into his body, Flanagan's hands on his shins, while Conor wrapped his arms around him.

»It's okay.«

»It was only meant to be fun«, Flanagan looked at him worriedly.

It was still 7:14.

Finegan took a deep breath and collected himself.

»We good?«, Flanagan asked, brows furrowed with genuine concern.

Finegan gave a short nod.

He could feel Conor press a quick kiss into his hair before letting go.

Flanagan tousled his hair.

Finegan let out a small laugh at that.

It turned 7:15.

Breakfast was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Flanagan, ever the gentleman, bounced up immediately to go and open it.

Finegan got up as well, followed closely by Conor who felt like it was the right thing to do, when he heard a female voice say:

»Hi, my car broke down and my phone is dead, I was wondering if you could help?«

»Yeah, sure, let me see what I can do«, Flanagan answered. »Do you know what kind of charger you need? I can try and get it back up and running, I'm pretty good with that kind of stuff.«

The woman in the door looked like a pinterest board with the tags ‘ethereal’ and ‘goddess’ come to life, from the top of her autumn color beanie that tried and failed to contain her curls to the toes of her floral print doc martens.

She looked at Flanagan with a certain interest, like he was a puzzle that needed solving but she wasn't sure if she should.

Then she spotted Finegan, recognition evident on her features.

»Sean, hi!«

Her gaze fell on Conor who had stopped a little behind Finegan in the hallway.

He could see in her eyes that he was a puzzle that was solved in seconds.

»Hi, Percy«, Finegan said.

Persephone smiled.


	11. Sunday - The Club of Absentee Fathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was delayed a little because life got surprisingly busy. (And because this story is nearing the end and I don't want it to be over yet)  
> I hope you enjoy it nontheless!
> 
> Spoilers: Zeus is a dick.

Flanagan stormed up the hill, yelling at the dark grey clouds above him.

Persephone's last words were echoing in his head, the way they had looked at him, the way something inside him had clicked into place.

The words had lit a fuse and he was about to explode.

_ A son of Zeus _ .

As he reached the crest of the hill, the wind tugging at his clothes and trying to burrow into his bones, his voice broke free.

The pain inside him, clawing for a way out, was too much.

»Every night that Mom sat in the kitchen and cried, I thought it was my fault! That if only I was a better son you would have stayed! That if I was the perfect son you would come back! So I kept trying, I kept trying to be better, to make her laugh, even when we couldn't pay rent anymore, even when grandmother died and we couldn't afford a funeral, I kept hoping that if only I was  _ better _ we would be worthy coming back for. Fuck! You're not a man, you're not a god, you are just a fucking asshole!!! My mother wasn't ready to have a kid. And you fucked up her life and threw her away like she was some piece of trash stuck on your shoe. You could have saved us and instead you left us to rot. And yet she still loved you, making excuses for you while you didn't give a single shit about us. FUCK YOU!«

His throat was burning. Tears were stinging in his eyes and he didn't know how he was still standing.

Above him the grey clouds were still moving across the sky, undisturbed by his outrage.

His father didn't care.

He never had.

»You are right.«

The voice came from his left and Flanagan's head snapped to the side to see a man stand there, tall and imposing, with stormy grey eyes and a sharp nose.

Zeus.

»You were never worthy of being my son.«

Zeus looked at him with a disinterest that was almost calculated.

Biting his tongue Flanagan turned to fully face him, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

»Neither were you of being my father.«

»I am the King of the Gods while your mother's nothing more than whore that couldn't keep her legs closed.«

Thunder rolled in the distance.

»Nations tremble before me, yet you dare insult me, because I won't play patty cake with an ant like you. The only noteworthy thing about you is the unwarranted size of your ego.«

»You want to talk to me about unwarranted ego? You? The God who never cared about anything but himself?«

Lightning was crackling around Zeus' fingers when Finegan stepped between them.

Wrapped up in his argument with his father Flanagan hadn't noticed his two friends fighting their way up the hill, against the winds trying to blow them right back down.

»Don't you dare put a hand on him.«

Zeus looked at Finegan and laughed, bitter and with a tinge of disbelief.

»What is it today with you humans not knowing your place? Step aside, boy and I might spare your life.«

Finegan didn't waver. Flanagan could feel Conor's hand holding onto his.

The sound of thunder rolled closer.

Three small, tenacious and surprisingly sturdy ponies barrelled up the hill and into Zeus.

Or rather into the thin air where Zeus had been only a moment ago.

Whatever tension had been holding him up before disappeared and Flanagan collapsed.

The cold mud was seeping through his jeans, but he didn't feel it.

He didn't feel anything but the way his sobs were wracking his body, purging everything he had held onto for as long as he could remember.

Every shred of disappointment, self hatred, the pressure of never being enough spilled out, tears falling like they were freeing themselves of the burden that was being a part of him.

He didn't know how long he had been like this, curled up and kneeling on the hill, when the pain inside him began dimming and he became aware of other sensations.

Finegan and Conor were holding onto him, as if they were trying to protect him from the world.

Finegan was gently rocking them back and forth.

Someone was stroking his hair.

Conor hadn't let go of his hand.

After what felt like an eternity he stopped crying.

He felt empty, but he didn't feel lost.

Finegan was looking at him with his green eyes and Flanagan knew.

One of the ponies snuffed into his ear, making him squeal.

Conor squeezed him before helping him up.

Darren, Peter and Steve looked at him expectantly.

»Are you okay to head back?«, Finegan asked, wiping away some of the tear tracks on his cheek.

»No«, Flanagan laughed. »But if we don't go back now, Claire will finish what my father started.«

Finegan responded with a half hearted smile while Conor pulled Flanagan into a hug.

»Einstein is constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown anyway, you can just tell her you are exploring that aspect of his character.«

Persephone was leaning against the Fiat Panda, when they, the shetland ponies in tow, made their way back.

She had been waiting for them.

»Back in one piece, I see.«

Finegan was about to open his mouth when she continued.

»Which means you will have a moment to finish our previous conversation.«

Conor put his arm around Flanagan's shoulders, a life line as well as an anchor.

»You«, her eyes narrowed down on Flanagan. »You need to be careful.«

»Yeah, Zeus is a dick.«

»Not just because of that. Time is a dangerous thing to manipulate.«

»Sorry?«

»Do you know how long you were gone for?«

All three of them shook their heads. Conor hazarded a guess: »25 minutes? Half an hour?«

Persephone pulled out a pocket watch.

»Three minutes and a few seconds.«

»How?«

»Time pockets. I had a feeling someone created one this morning. It's the reason I showed up, actually. Time is Zeus’ realm, so I had suspicions.«

Finegan was the only one with a verbal response to this revelation: »oh.«

Flanagan seemed nonplussed, having depleted all his emotional energy, now going straight to acceptance, do not pass disbelief, do not collect two hundred dollars.

»They’re fickle things. You will need to learn how to control your powers and you will have to do it fast. Time is an easy thing to get lost in and I am not sure that he will be able to find you when that happens.«

She looked over at Finegan.

»And all three of you would do well remembering the stories of old. Don't mess with deities. Anyway«, she clapped her hands, mood switching from serious to deceivingly joyful. »I gotta go, if Zeus figures out I am topside he will tell my mother and she will nag me why I can't visit her during winter.«

»One second«, Conor blurted out.

Persephone stopped and raised an eyebrow.

»Do all... children of deities have powers?«

»In some shape or form, yes«, she answered.

»Can you tell me what mine is?«

She got that look again, the one she had while puzzling around in her mind, looking between the Shetland ponies, still standing guard behind the three and Conor.

»Poseidon is the father of horses. Maybe it has something to do with that.«

With these words, she was gone, leaving them underneath grey skies with just about as many questions as they had gotten answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Leave a kudo or a comment if you feel like it, they brighten my day.


	12. Sunday - Fiat Panda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the last chapter.  
> This fic has gotten so many more hits than I thought it would and such a lovely reception, better than I had hoped for.  
> Thank you for coming along on this journey.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.

They had been driving for a good twenty minutes, without music and without saying a word.

The last rehearsal, the subsequent clean up and all the other events of the day had been exhausting, leaving them physically and emotionally drained.

Reminiscent of the beginning of their journey together, Conor was the one behind the wheel, Finegan in the passenger seat looking out the window into the night, Flanagan in the back, lost in thought.

Tina had offered to give him a ride home, explaining that since Sarah was going to stay with her Uncle for another day, she had a free space in her car.

He had declined.

Tina had swallowed her disappointment and avoided him for the rest of the evening, making a point of not looking at him during dinner.

Conor, who had been sitting beside him had casually bumped his knee against Flanagan's under the table, keeping it there for the remainder of the evening.

Flanagan had wanted to hold his hand. Instead of reaching out he firmly held onto his cutlery.

»What's gonna happen now?«, Flanagan broke the silence in the car.

»What do you mean?«, Finegan asked, lifting his head away from where he had been resting against the window.

»Once we get back, what's gonna happen?« Even though he had insulted a god today, saying what he felt now was immeasurably more difficult.

»What happened this weekend. Us. All of it. Not the whole.... messed up fathers thing. The pillow fort. Holding hands. That stuff. What does it mean?«

»Things don't have to be more than-«, Conor began, almost automatically, only to be interrupted by Flanagan.

»What if I want them to be? What if I don't want them to be over. What if I-«

The words caught in his throat.

Conor pulled over to the side of the road, throwing the car into park and twisting around in his seat so he could look at the other two.

The only thing illuminating them was the light spilling out into the darkness from the car's headlights, casting an eerie glow on their faces, obscuring them in shadows at the same time.

Flanagan looked at his hands. »What if... I want to stay an oreo?«

Finegan cracked a smile: »I think I'd be okay with that.«

»Conor?«

He looked at them, suddenly feeling more vulnerable and more open, without the fort around them, instead all three cooped up in his beat up Fiat Panda, a space so small there was no room for secrets.

Secrets belonged to the outside world.

»I can't just let you be an oo now, can I?«

He tried to sound light hearted. It didn't really work out. He swallowed.

»The problem is, when things become more, everything else does too. I mean, bringing home one boy is one thing, but two? My mum's progressive but she's not that progressive. So then what? Sneaking around? Keeping it secret?«

»We'll figure it out«, Finegan said, echoing Conor's own words from the day before back to him. »But I'd rather try and figure it out than not try at all.«

»I might need roommates next semester«, Flanagan piped up. »If you want. Too fast? I mean it's months away, but I wanted to throw it out there-«

Conor shut him up with a kiss.

Finegan coughed, making them break apart. »I hate to be a buzzkill but we gotta get going again pretty soon or we won't make it back to Dublin before two in the morning. And I got a lecture at 8:30.«

»Alright...« Conor sighed and shifted the car back into gear, but not before leaning over to give Finegan a quick peck. »If you want you can stay at my place tonight, I live closer to campus.«

»I might just take you up on that«, Finegan replied, nestling himself back against the window.

They had just pulled back onto the road when Flanagan brought them to an abrupt stop.

»Wait!«

Finegan was jerked from what had been the first step of falling asleep and Conor choked the car.

»What?«

»Finegan get back here.«

»Why?«

»'cause then you can nap on my shoulder and I can pretend not to find your little snore adorable.«

»I don't snore.«

»You do«, answered the other two in unison, breaking out in laughter.

Grumbling, without any real bite though, Finegan climbed into the back seat, but instead of sitting down and leaning against Flanagan, who was still in the middle seat, he told him: »Move.«

Flanagan did, shuffling over to the right.

»Better.« Finegan sat down on the left, fastened his seat belt and then, with the help of some minor gymnastics, managed to lay down with his head pillowed on Flanagan's lap.

Conor watched in the rear view mirror, catching Flanagan's eye and the smile playing around his lips.

»We good to go?«

»Yep.«

Finegan missed his 8:30 lecture.

Conor missed his 10am lab.

And Flanagan patted himself on the back for not having anything on Mondays that started before 3 in the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story, please consider leaving a kudo or a comment, they brighten up my day and are a huge motivation to keep writing <3  
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you'd like, feel free to leave a kudo or a comment.


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